Beta Male
by AbaddonNox
Summary: Doc gets the Captain into his lab. What mad scientist wouldn't lust after the opportunity to have a true lycanthrope as a guinea pig? I guess no one told Doc you can take the wolf out of the wild but not the wild out of the wolf...


Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of Hellsing, that honor belongs to the great Kohta Hirano. Furthermore, the beliefs, events, etc. depicted in this work do not in any way represent the opinions, actions, etc. of the writer. Reader discretion is thusly advised.  
Spoilers: All of "The Dawn" (six chapters currently) and probably through volume 4 of the main Hellsing manga, though to be safe I would suggest having read everything up to and including episode 73 (somewhere in volume 9).  
Beta: Scape Goat  
Warnings: Violence and nudity.  
A/N: This story takes place in the mangaverse at an unspecified time after "The Dawn" but well before any of the events in Hellsing proper (therefore closer to 1944 than 1997).

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**Beta Male**

_Definition: the male wolf second in rank to the alpha male of a pack (1)_

"Good! You're here. Over there, up on the table ..."

The man known casually as "Doc" motioned to the far corner of the room with one hand while the rest of him fluttered off in the opposite direction. Only a few of the Nazi refugees whom he shared this hidden stronghold with knew if the willowy scientist was really a medical doctor or not. That was probably for the best. Ignorance meant they were free to believe providence was just enough to have never allowed such a man to utter a pledge vowing to "never do harm". With that conviction you had a chance of waking up from a nightmare featuring his thin-lipped grin without soiling yourself, wetting the bed was a given though.

The reality of Doc's practice was painfully obvious to anyone who entered his wing of the complex. Surrounded by clutter people tended to shrug off as the price of genius were organ-filled specimen jars and unpleasant looking instruments on discarded trays. Amid the lab notes tiling the walls grisly photographs were also tacked, images that had hopefully been taken when the subject was dead or at least mercifully unconscious. And if you managed to stay oblivious to all the above, there was no avoiding the sight or stench of gore that hailed from every exposed surface. In this travesty of a scientific environment Doc was flittering like a hummingbird.

"Where are those? Why is that there? These go here ... those should be over there ... and here is what I was looking for!" the wiry doctor chirped as he located and slipped on a clean pair of gloves. He was even replacing his familiar soiled lab coat for a fresh one. The scientist was acting like a yuletide-drugged child, and the present to rival any holiday gift was nonchalantly approaching the examination table Doc had pointed him to.

If the Captain knew what he was in store for it didn't show. The man was leaning against the chrome table more than sitting on it, but his height was allowing him to fulfill enough of the directive that Doc could only frown and amend his instructions rather than chide the Captain for not following them.

"Take the clothes off," the doctor clarified. "Bitte ... and sit on the table completely so your feet are off the floor."

When there was no movement at his request Doc started to purse his lips into a scowl, but then the expression slipped into a knowing smile.

"It is nothing I have not seen many times Captain, but I will turn and leave you to undress."

Doc twisted around and folded his arms. He had waited long enough for this day, a few more moments wouldn't matter.

Ever since the Major told him the Captain was a true werewolf – the same day that the Hellsing Organization had crashed into his life, ruining research as well as dinner – Doc wanted to get the lycanthrope into his lab. Fate had been cruel to drop that gem in his lap and not allow him to touch it. When the tide of war was deemed irreversible his superior had understandably been preoccupied with the swift move of operations to South America. It had not been a time for the Major to loan out his faithful wolf. Doc grudgingly accepted this, so after planting the seed, he busied himself with his own duties. That had not been difficult, what remained of his work needed to be relocated as well.

The Major was an exceptional bureaucrat, of objects as well as people. Most would call the latter being a good leader, but to Doc it was simply a natural extension of the man's innate talent for manipulation. Doc had barely stumbled through scrapping together his research and getting it to the specified location at the specified time, and the Hellsing Organization had made that job easier by destroying as much as they did. The chubby little man had been the one coordinating it all, and doing it as effortlessly as he downed a five course meal.

Doc respected the Major, and feared him. Of course the shorter man was ruthless, but more importantly he and Doc were similar at heart. They both had a singular passion that made everything and everyone around them a means to an end. Thus Doc, more than anyone, knew how dangerous the Major really was. The scientist grasped that he was as disposable as anyone else in the plump man's eyes, but Doc was also clever enough to keep himself useful. There had not been much need for cleverness yet. What fed the doctor's desires kept his superior happy as well. It was an agreeable relationship that Doc planned to maintain as long as possible, and perhaps the Major felt the same way. He did finally acquiesce to Doc's request, but only after promising research progress of the undead variety had been made in their new South American home ...

_"You may study Doc, but he is not to be damaged. Am I clear?"_

_"Jawohl."_

... Doc turned around to view his productivity reward. The Captain was sitting tall in nothing but his _erkennungsmarke_; Doc would have preferred if that dog tag had been removed as well, but he wasn't going to quibble.

"Well then, let's take a look at you, ja?"

The werewolf kept his eyes locked on the approaching doctor. The scrutiny was unnerving, even though it was softened by a broken curtain of ashen hair. The Captain's steadfast demeanor of attentive stoicism never seemed to falter. It was the stance of a predator confident in his strength and comfortable in his skin. There was not even a touch of a great cat's sunbathing languidness. It was all the nimble attention and cold gaze of a sentinel wolf. Doc fiddled with his glasses, switching a few of the lenses, before slipping his hands underneath the Captain's jaw and palpating down the extended throat.

He was a beautiful specimen: strong heart, clear lungs, and a well-proportioned body tight with firm muscle. Add his pale hair and bluish eyes and the Captain was the perfect Aryan, if you left out the fact that he was a werewolf. Freaks had their uses though. Even an oddity like having one too many fingers could be overlooked if the individual made themselves indispensable. Exempting that they made stimulating research subjects. There was actually little on a superficial examination that pointed towards the Captain being anything but a fit human. His temperature was high, closer to normal for a canine, but that was about it. The heat bleeding off from this baseline fever carried a faint odor that hinted at fur, yet that could easily be written off as a trick of the mind. Doc needed to probe deeper.

The Captain reached out his left arm without a trace of emotion or hesitation when requested to. Doc drew more blood than was probably routine for a normal person to lose, but it was taken with the same relatively harmless intentions as the other fluid, hair, and dermal samples. _No damage_, that is what the Major had said. The scientist's intellect gnawed at the cage those words placed it in. Doc considered himself a leading scientific authority on monsters whose existence and abilities were tied to what, in layman's terms, could only be called a living death. But what was sitting before him had as much to do with the undead as the sun was like the moon – they possess the same general shape and share a universe but that is where the similarity ends. The Captain was very much alive in the traditional sense of the word; in fact, he almost radiated it. Doc was acclimated to the cold world of vampires and ghouls, so it was possible he was mistaking the vigor of a robust human for something more, yet the scientist didn't think so. He was willing to postulate that a lycanthrope's power was rooted in life as much as a vampire's appeared mired to death.

However, the only way to prove this hypothesis was through rigorous scientific exploration. In order to understand something you have to dig past masks of superficial data and peel back messy layers of more meaningful observations to excise the glistening truth. Doc was willing to vivisect reality itself if doing so would expose the secrets he desired. But sitting before him was a vessel containing the current focus of his passions, and he couldn't even bring the smallest bit of harm to it. No_ lasting_ harm that is, and Doc remembered with clinical sharpness the fateful Hellsing encounter that had unfolded on a grainy closed-circuit monitor. A battle where he swore the werewolf regenerated flesh.

Doc reached for a clean scalpel and cut the Captain's inner forearm as deep as he thought could be mended with a handful of stitches.

"Heal this," Doc said without taking his eyes off the bleeding wound. "I know you can."

The underlying muscle contracted slightly as the injury oozed closed in a wisp of downy fur.

"Remarkable," he murmured while probing the fresh skin.

Doc discarded the scalpel and produced a rather nasty pair of clippers. He slipped the Captain's little finger between the blades and looked into the werewolf's face, taking the stolid gaze for acquiescence. When the joint resisted being severed Doc twisted the shears agitatedly. The Lycanthrope calmly wrapped his fingers around the struggling hand, adding his own crushing strength until the bone and cartilage gave way with a sickly pop.

"Regrow it ... quickly," Doc directed nervously as blood fluxed where the digit should have been. If he was wrong the Major was not going to be pleased.

The Captain flexed his remaining fingers and liquid hair flowed over the wound, forming into a new finger. The velvety fur lingered momentarily before receding.

Doc examined the restored appendage, his mind whirring. He recalled a vague intelligence report on regenerative technologies secretly being pursued by the Vatican. Could such efforts have a basis in lycanthrope research? The living nature of said powers would have an obvious appeal to them, but the Roman Catholic Church had such annoying scruples against monsters that it seemed unlikely. Religious fanatics did possess the amazing ability to legitimize anything they put their minds to though.

Doc grabbed a probe-like contraption from across the room and placed it on a nearby tray. He never had that much difficulty severing a digit before; the Captain obviously possessed a fortified skeleton and Doc wanted to study it. But that was just one specimen he coveted, and healing from a few biopsies appeared well within the werewolf's abilities.

"Lay down Captain," Doc requested while continuing preparations. "Lengthwise on the table, bitte."

When his attention returned to the werewolf it was accompanied by a syringe. Yet even from a prone position the Captain's cool stare made him falter.

"I want to take some deeper tissue samples. This will make it easier on you."

The Captain slowly shook his head. Doc frowned. He did not give out analgesics lightly. Often the way a body reacted to a procedure was just as important as the outcome, and drugs muddied the waters. Anesthesia and painkillers did have their uses; they usually improved success as well as survivability, and also made effective bribes. Subjects could become extremely agreeable if the alternative was the same risky operation without blissful numbness. In this case he didn't want any fidgeting. A slip could mar his specimen and inflict unnecessary damage. Doc also considered it unwise to cause a person he saw on a regular basis, and one who was close to the Major, undue pain.

The scientist shrugged. He was not going to force the issue, not yet anyway. Doc discarded the syringe and began to buckle the table's restraint system. The Captain made no move to stop him. In fact, he barely reacted to anything, even the punctures themselves. A soft cough followed the lung sampling, but the delay left Doc wondering if the werewolf was clearing blood out of his airway rather than responding to pain. The bone aspiration didn't even elicit a twitch. After the final specimen, one from the heart, the silent Captain was losing color and hemorrhaging badly. However, when Doc leaned over his patient locked eyes easily. The steely orbs were still sharp and lucid, but there was a touch of wild white around the irises. In retrospect, that was probably something Doc should have paid more attention to.

"Heal," he whispered before deciding to press matters forward, "and change completely this time."

The werewolf continued to stare up at Doc, the forced steadiness of his breathing the only observable tension in a body that should have been showing a lot more of something considering what had just been done to it. The performance was riveting, but Doc's mind began to spin when the Captain did not respond immediately to his directives. Did the biopsy devise have any silver in it? No, yet he wasn't even certain lycanthropes had issues with that metal in the first place. Doc scolded himself for not running an allergy series sooner. Now was definitely not the time with the stench of fresh gore only sharpening. It was usually the aroma of discovery, but currently only brought anxiety and a growing sense of dread.

Doc worried needlessly. The Captain arched away from the table and fur blossomed in rippling waves over his body. Under these downy swells muscle and bone shifted grotesquely. It looked excruciating to the watching doctor. Could the werewolf feel the pain or was he immune to it? Was this hypothetical tolerance acquired with the lycanthropy or developed in order to deal with it? The scientist's mind was teeming with questions as he leaned closer and touched hair that was still undulating in the last washes of transformation. A growl purred in the lycanthrope's throat. Doc smiled and slipped his hand beneath the wolfish muzzle.

"Magnificent ... so this is Fenrir, the bound wolf," he uttered absently, already lost in his examination of the Captain's new form. Doc studied the lupine face and directed the snout away in order to get a better look at the side shrouded in dark fur.

"Then who is Odin?" he asked everyone and no one, a stream of consciousness vocalized. "Who are you going to destroy when Ragnarok comes?"

What happened next was an unexpected blur, at least to Doc. The werewolf leapt from the table with a snarl, restraints tearing like paper, and the scientist felt his back making a painful acquaintance with the nearest wall. A dangling identity disk struck Doc's nose as its irate owner pinned him to the cold surface, body poised above and arms blocking escape from either side. Doc ignored instincts that screamed at him to flee. He froze, fighting against the slippery wall with flexed thighs and digging fingernails. Don't run, because food runs. If you act like food you are food and Doc had no desire to lose his life.

Fur bled from the werewolf's body in a surge of heat and canine muskiness. He was in perfect health again, if the unmarred chest inches from Doc's face was any indication, but something feral still clung to his restored humanity. A deep growl rumbled through the Captain's rib cage. Perhaps planning these examinations for a full moon had been unwise. At the time Doc saw it as a calculated risk to optimize his study conditions. He didn't know what affect the lunar cycle had on a lycanthrope, if any, though anecdotal evidence pointed towards a positive correlation. Now it was just another variable he had to consider while evaluating his current predicament.

You don't lord over a wolf, making him expose his throat and soft underbelly, without consequences. Doc cursed within the flustered confines of his brain. An obedient and seemingly well-mannered dog was still a member of the genus _canis_. Had he mistaken blind compliance for intelligent cooperation? Doc didn't think so. There appeared to be more than simple predatory control behind the Captain's cool, though bristled, posture. That was the problem with monsters; they were all chimeras, at least metaphysically if not biologically. It was often tricky to figure out which part of the mixture you were dealing with at any given time.

The werewolf's chin was jutting over his captive, hot breath mussing neat blond locks. Despite the angle, Doc knew cold eyes were glaring in his direction. It was hard to know what was going on behind those orbs, but he had a hasty theory. The Captain's unwavering stance didn't feel like a pounce or a challenge, more like a firm statement; it just needed to be acknowledged. That, of course, was easier in principle than execution. Doc craned his neck with agonizing slowness. He was being treated like an errant wolf, so his guess was that he needed to respond like one. With eyes averted, Doc extended a quivering tongue and licked the Captain's jaw.

Seconds dragged painfully for the scientist, stretched by the same panic digging into his gut. There was no taking the actions back, and with beasts actions were everything. Thoughts tumbled where his paralyzed body couldn't, worried speculation that the gesture had been too subtle – or botched. Doc's knowledge of things uniquely wolfish was cursory, only intended as background for investigations in the area of lycanthropy. But even a thorough understanding held no guarantees when you were dealing with the mixed, and thus often unpredictable, nature of a monster. Werewolf etiquette could differ completely from that of _canis lupus_, and just as likely possess _homo sapiens_ elements. Blood rushed to Doc's cheeks; maybe slipping into a supine position and urinating on himself would have been less open to interpretation.

The Captain exhaled sharply through his nose and pulled away from the doctor, who stayed frozen in place against the wall. He then turned and calmly stalked off with the kind of composure Doc did not commonly associate with monsters, but had come to expect from the Major's adjunct. True monsters were, more often than not, as volatile as they were powerful. These creatures might know some stability if one of their normally clashing internal factions came to dominate the others, but inner peace was merely a dream and insanity an inevitable reality. Sometimes though, instead of breaking, they gave in. Such individuals obtained a unique type of placidity by not fighting the stormy wax and wane which defined their existence, and oddly enough they were usually the ones who still had part of their humanity left; perhaps by not fearing its loss these monsters retained that fragile part of themselves. Regardless, to willingly succumb to a maelstrom took a certain kind of madness, or a great deal of self-control which could be considered its own brand of lunacy.

Doc kept his gaze submissive and focused elsewhere, but rustling cloth led him to assume the Captain was dressing. It wasn't until he heard even footsteps fading down the corridor that Doc finally allowed himself to slide to the floor.

The loyal wolf was returning to his post at the Major's side, beta male to the chubby little man's alpha. Doc was pretty sure he had just formally acceded lupine rank to the Captain.

What did that make him then?

Probably the bitch.

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A/N: Thank you for getting this far in my piece. If you have a second please leave a review. This is my first submission ever and I would appreciate any and all feedback :) 

**NOTES**

1 - http://www.timberwolfinformation.org/kidsonly/glossary.htm (yes, it's a kid's site, but the definition wording fit what I was looking for)


End file.
